


Mirror

by Ahsurika



Series: Their Lights Unnumbered [4]
Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Aaravos Week (The Dragon Prince), Big Bad, Dark Magic, Gen, villain-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:07:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25132879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ahsurika/pseuds/Ahsurika
Summary: Aaravos's mentor teaches him how to create a magic mirror.
Series: Their Lights Unnumbered [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1820533
Kudos: 4





	Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> reposting this Aaravos Week oneshot as its own fic, as I probably should've done when I originally put this up

I have a story for you, Aaravos. No, I promise! This one's necessary. You'll see.

Thousands of years before recorded history, one dragon obliterated an elf settlement on the southern coast of the continent in retaliation for the death of his son.

The young dragon’s death was accidental and quite possibly not the elves’ fault at all, but this was long before the days of Queen Zubeia, before even the idea of Xadia was more than a fleeting dream. The elves were cold toward outsiders, haughty in their growing prosperity, the adult dragon in question was wild, ruthless, quick to anger and quicker to judgment.

This settlement was the largest in the world at the time; one archaeologist gives its population at nearly fifteen thousand. Imagine what power could have been harnessed with a Dark Mage on hand. All that death!

The dragon’s attack burned the sand bright. Where the tide cooled the irradiated glow, Aaravos, is where you’ll acquire the most magic-intensive base for your pane. The shoreline has receded about ninety yards, which means you’ll be diving and sifting for the right sand.

Note that volcanic glass ( _obsidian_ , the Sunfire elves call it) will not suffice. Natural geothermic pressure cannot produce the proper ratio of Earth and Sun magic due to the temperature inversion involved: Sun energy that _cools_ puts too many limitations on what you can do with the material in question.

Of course you can still create a mirror with it. But if all you wanted was to craft a looking glass, my dear Aaravos, you would not be listening to me, would you?

See, when it comes to material, the manner in which it is made matters; add magic into that mix, and the reason _why_ becomes just as important. The righteous rage of clashing ideals creates dense potency, while madness packs a deeply colorful resonance. The stronger the emotion behind the spell, the more impressive its effects.

Pain, however, has a primal purity that all the rest lack, and the agony of losing a child combined with the exothermic release of vital energy on such a scale…

It’s rarer than rare. How often does a dragon glass an entire elven city?

* * *

There are three considerations when choosing your material composition for a mirror portal. We’ll start with the most important:

1) the magical properties of the mixture.

Most you know well, but two are unique to communication portals of this nature. For a mirror, the properties that require special focus are the quantum coordination between the mirrors, and the rate of particle decay as a result of the mirror’s passive spell generation. The first can be solved by a few calculations that even a Skywing elf could run so long as they were told the correct axis and ordered not to fly too high.

With the second, your concern here is not the mirror's functionality but its longevity. I'm recommending some frighteningly rare ingredients, and you do not want to have to rebuild this construct every century. Any half-life under a thousand years isn't worth your time.

I realize that limits your options. Deal with it.

2) the viscosity of your mixture and the distribution of metallic flaws within.

Sounds silly, I know, but I also know you, and you’re going to be tempted to suffuse your mirror with _as much magic as possible_. No, don’t deny it. You want a mirror that will overflow and wash every molecule in the room with energy. I’m here to remind you of _all_ the ways that can’t work.

Strike a balance. No more than a thousand-to-one ratio between metallic elements. No less than three parts-per-million of any element smaller than silver. Space your rarer elements as uniformly as you can -- you want the magical tension that results from unnaturally-even molecular distribution more than you want the ability of your mirror to affect the other party's mind.

Learn how to win strangers over with that gravel-smoothing voice of yours.

3) how it looks.

Come on. What’s the point, otherwise?

I’m being serious.

Personally, when I crafted my pane, I used glauconite with just a hint of mercury to bolster the surface’s reflective potential. Needed to get into some serious chemical magic, but it was well worth it. I’ve always loved the ocean, and if you take the time to press the brine from seawater, then burn the salt for the particular Water magic it contains, you can utilize natural elemental attraction to serve as an extraordinarily tight sealant. After I tinned the glass with the now-saltless water (this, and I cannot stress this enough, is one place you do _not_ want to try your own flourish on the recipe — please, please, _please_ just use conventional tin), then allowed the salt to return to its origin, and _Seal_. Easy as that. Since I wasn’t an idiot when I calculated the quantum particles, this also served to enhance exponentially the communicator strands, which is why I can be _here_ in my castle, sipping cocoa with the most wonderful chocolate aroma, and also _there_ , trying to coax knowledge into your head.

Plus, I found the blend added a lovely blue-green tint to the reflection that —

… _Aaravos_.

You’re being —

Come now.

Spraying your glass with a _crushed dragon scale_ verges on arrogance.

Fine, fine. Do what you deem best.

Can’t deny that you have flair.

* * *

Where was I?

Ah. Setting the mirror.

Petrified wood for the frame.

Digging it up yourself is an option, if you’re a blithering idiot and don’t care about your sources. Much better to petrify it yourself. If you recall from our readings, Archmage Corvonos claims that mundane construction is best, that it is far safer than failing to account in your spellcasting for a stray carbon atom. Usually he’s correct, but in this particular instance you need precision that nature’s inherent chaos does not allow. You need _control_ , or you’re liable to scatter your workbench or your materials or your dominant hand across half the continent.

What I mean is, use magic with this one.

Oh, yes, I mean _exactness_. Down to the last proton bleed.

Better start calculating.

Anyway.

With the right treatment, any wood would have worked, but I’m pleased with your choice of the willow. The Moonshadows’ affinity for night makes them a natural ally of yours, the closest to your revolutionary mind if they could but see past a few centuries of dragon-guided politics. And the after-shroud of their concealment spell lingered long enough that if (when) you ever need to use this mirror to get out of a tight spot — you would not have come to me if you thought you’d never see the inside of a prison — very few creatures will actually recognize the mirror for what it is.

…

Nice work, my friend.

* * *

Another story. I know you'll like this one.

Thirty years before the rise of Elarion, three years before the first human mage attempted to harness what they would come to call Dark Magic, a princess absconded in the dead of night from the shining capital of the Sunfire Elves (the city which would in later times be known as Lux Aurea).

Her name was Kendia. As the queen’s fourth and youngest daughter, she had no natural place among the three pillars (heir, general, and archmage) of her mother’s court. Her flight shocked few of the city’s residents, for she had the reputation and personality of wildfire and had long contended against the court’s decrees. A celebrity, almost legend among the capital’s population for how fiercely she fought for their interests. She, however, believed that they could never achieve their goals with her present, and had spoken of escape since before her teenage years.

Truly, she was the greatest treasure that people has ever known.

Everyone knew Kendia wanted to leave. Really, the question surrounding her departure was not _if_ nor even _when_ , but _why was it taking so long?_

Rumors scorched the grasslands when the twenty-one-year-old finally vanished, but after the riots had settled — it took weeks to convince the populace that she hadn’t been assassinated — the aristocratic and administrative classes breathed a collective sigh of relief. A nuisance to the extreme, she could have overthrown her family had she chosen. They didn’t bother to ask why she _didn’t_ — though, as you well know, they should have.

If she hadn’t taken her mother’s crown with her, they might not have bothered to follow.

The best and brightest Sunfire special forces managed to track her to the Shiverglades, where they deemed her lost to the treacherous ice and snowdrifts. Their empty-handed return can be tied both to war and to peace, but that is a subject for another time. Kendia herself passed out of the history books, an enigma to the end.

Fortunately, I know more than the history books.

She lived nearly five hundred years in the Shiverglades, the cold masking all the Sunfire crown’s magic from anyone beyond the frozen land’s borders. From Kendia the golden circlet passed to her partner, a talented Moonshadow mage who melted the gold down and with some of its magic crafted the staff that would, centuries later, aid in the creation of the Border.

The rest of this golden crown’s imbued magic settled beneath the snow, where it still awaits discovery today. Even I do not know where that might be, nor what could be achieved with the energy of such powerful emotion from royalty such as Kendia.

You’re welcome to seek it out, but you’ve never struck me as one who enjoyed frostbite.

The gold itself would become part of the Shiverglades’ economy, such that it was. Only some four hundred years ago did an enterprising young Tidebound elf — no, don’t say it, I _am_ still young! — only a few centuries ago did that brilliant, beautiful mage gather the scattered remnants together, march straight to the gates of Lux Aurea, and announce the return of its second greatest treasure.

Thus was the gold returned to the capital Sunfire elves and into the hands of its then-queen, a proud woman named Aditi.

I need not bother telling _you_ , Aaravos, about the rest. Told you you'd like it.

Is lining the portal runes with melted gold necessary? No, of course not, not in any magical sense. The gold's magic is somewhere in the Shiverglades. Besides, your other materials ensure that you have just the right balance as it stands.

But why bother with any artistic craft if you aren’t willing to invest it with a little of what defines you?

**Author's Note:**

> comments and critique are always appreciated!


End file.
